Aftermath
by avi17
Summary: Another day, another battle, and again Owain has made it out alive- but this time, he is not happy with the reason why. (Implied Owain/Brady)


I could babble about headcanons and whatnot and apologize for non-dramatical Owain but eh. XP This has been in the works for a while and is finally done, so just read. XP (lazy Avi is too lazy for author's notes .)

[begin]

The tired chatter and sounds of the Shepherds dragging themselves back into camp after yet another battle were muted to a quiet buzz from Brady's place in the medical tent. He shifted restlessly on the uncomfortable cot that he had reluctantly come to consider 'his spot,' as pathetic as that was. At this point, he suspected that the threadbare pillow probably even smelled like him. He blinked at the familiar canvas ceiling, lightheaded from the combination of blood loss and healing magic, and listened to the hum of activity outside the tent, waiting for the inevitable-

"Are you in here?"

Brady groaned as Owain flung open the flap of the tent. His eyes were wide and his expression livid- not in the way that it was when he got too absorbed in his fantasy world, but really, genuinely angry. Brady was hardly surprised- he had been dreading this visit ever since he had floated back to consciousness to the sight of his mother's worried frown and remembered the events of the day- but that didn't make him any more inclined to attempt to justify himself.

"What the hell was that back there?" the swordsman snapped, entirely devoid of his usual dramatic embellishment.

In a weak attempt at humor, Brady muttered, "Yer talkin' normal…great, I'm dead."

Owain, however, was in no mood for jokes, and the sharpness of his voice was laced with concern. "Don't mess with me right now, Brady! Are you okay?"

"Been worse," the healer evaded, surreptitiously pulling the blanket higher up on his shoulders.

Owain frowned petulantly. "That's not an answer." Receiving no better one, he strode over to the cot and yanked the covers down before Brady could close his fingers on them to stop it. His teeth clenched as a mess of bloodied bandages was revealed , wrapping around Brady's entire shoulder where an arrow had needed to be forced through and out the back to be removed. Owain knew the wicked barbs on those Risen darts- he had ripped a shallow one from his thigh once in the heat of battle and suffered for it later. This wound was still sluggishly oozing beneath the bandages, and the thick, coppery smell to which he was normally accustomed made him feel vaguely ill. "Why isn't this closed up?"

"Body'll only take so much healin' magic at once," Brady explained, shifting his gaze away from Owain's face. "It's mostly fine, Ma'll come finish it off in a couple hours."

"Mostly fine," Owain repeated in a breathless, mirthless laugh. He sat down heavily on the edge of the cot, shoulders hunched but full of tension, his entire presence reminiscent of a string pulled taut from both ends until it was about to snap in two. "Look," he began shakily, voice unsteady not from nerves but from pent-up anger that wired his exhausted body like a drug, "I'm not even going to go into why you were out in the middle of things like that, or what a miracle it is that your arm apparently still works, or…any of that, and there's a lot I could get into…" Swallowing a mouthful of dry air, he soldiered on. "You know what happened to my dad. How he died." And Brady did- they had been close even in their youth, and he had been there with the other families as the corpse of Owain's father was carried back to their camp and added to the ever-growing line of graves, and had watched his weeping friend tag along at the pallbearers' ankles and stay hunched against the stone long after the others had left and gone to sleep. He had seen all of that, and yet here they were. Owain's blunt fingernails dug into his palm. "I just…I got scared, and…" The irony was not lost on him- the ever-loquacious Avenger of Justice struggling for words- so he skipped straight to the point. "Promise me you'll never do that again, okay?"

Brady's chest ached at the raw vulnerability in Owain's voice, and even more for what he was about to say. "No can do."

"…What?" It was not the answer Owain had expected, and his entire train of thought- already scattered from fatigue and worry- derailed completely. "I just said that-"

"I heard what ya said, bein' laid up don't make me deaf," Brady interrupted, a subtle, sardonic bite in his tone. "But I still ain't gonna let ya get killed if there's anything I can do about it." He was almost insulted that Owain had asked such a thing of him and expected easy agreement, and for the first time since the angry intrusion into his space, he met the other man's eyes with defiance.

"Then- then heal me or something if I get hit! That's your job!" Owain yelled, voice cracking for the first time in years, looking close to tears of frustration. "Don't take a damn arrow for me!"

Brady found himself hating his inability to sit upright at the other man's level as he snapped back, "_Don't_ tell me what my "job" is!" Managing to prop himself up slightly with his uninjured arm, he continued hoarsely before Owain could open his mouth, "And I ain't arguin' about this! I'd do it again if I had to." His shoulder had already begun to ache, and he dropped back onto the pillow, energy fizzling out, his gaze once again focusing pointedly on the tent ceiling. "You're important, ya know?" he began quietly, unsure how many of his private thoughts to voice. "We give ya a hard time for all the theatrical crap, but you're the kinda guy that everybody rallies around. They need ya." A pause, then an admission. "So do I."

Owain's anger, on the other hand, was still at full force, and he grabbed his partner's chin a little too roughly, seeking the eye contact that he had lost. "And you think we _don't _need you? " Brady twisted his head away to shake off Owain's grasp- he allowed it, balling his hand into a fist on the pillow instead, but continued no less vehemently, "You think that because I fight- or lead people or something- and you don't, my life has more- more _value_ than yours?!" He sputtered this last in outraged disbelief.

Brady's sallow cheeks tinted the slightest bit pink, and he sighed, beginning to sound defeated. "…Didn't say that. But I ain't of much use to anybody here." As often as he had said as much to himself, it was a difficult thing to admit aloud, though still not as much as the words that left his lips next. "I don't think I could live with it if somethin' happened to you when it coulda been me instead."

"…I can't even believe what I'm hearing…" Shaking his head, Owain fixed Brady with a reproachful look. "I'm going to put you in here myself the next time I hear you say something like that."

It was not a real threat, of course- if anything Owain was _too_ gentle with him- but Brady was feeling gloomy and rebellious enough to reply, "That'd be better than ya havin' to protect me all the damn time."

Owain raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping sarcasm as he retorted, " And almost getting yourself killed is how you're going to prove to me that you don't need me to protect you?"

Sensing an impasse, Brady glared halfheartedly and grumbled, "Get out and lemme bleed in peace."

"No can do," Owain countered. The healer scowled at having his earlier statement thrown back at him and turned away with a grunt of pain to lay as much on his side as he was capable, curling in on himself and facing resolutely away from the other man. Owain spent a long moment staring at the sharp jut of his exposed shoulder blades, the ashy skin stretched too tightly over them. Resisting the urge to lay his hand there, he exhaled quietly, rubbing his temples. "…Stubborn."

"Yep," came Brady's answer, muffled by the pillow.

"Yeah, well, me too." Owain stretched his neck, shifting to a more comfortable position on the rickety cot, and settled in for a long stay.

[end]

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